


To Shave One's Hair

by Kept_Candlelight



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Haircuts, Mentioned Ozai (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar) whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29625906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kept_Candlelight/pseuds/Kept_Candlelight
Summary: In the Fire Nation, hair was a symbol of honor. It was a sign of love. Of family. They prided themselves on it and decorated it with different accessories. Hair was important.Maybe that's why it hurt so badly when Zuko's hair was cut off.
Kudos: 23





	To Shave One's Hair

After what felt like days of nothing but black, the first thing Zuko saw when he opened his eyes was red.

It wasn’t red like the cherries that Azula liked to be hand-fed, nor was it red like the deep wine that Father drank at suppertime. It wasn’t red like the dresses that Mom used to wear—at least, not when she still lived at the palace—and it wasn’t red like the chilis he liked to eat by the handful.

No. Instead, it was blood red.

Bright and deep. Rich and sickening. Crimson. Blood red.

He didn’t know where he was, and the thought made his breathing speed up. All he saw was that specific shade of blood red that made his heart catch in his chest. The more he blinked, the more he noticed that it wasn’t just red—it was a sheet.

A tapestry.

He reached up to rub his eyes. However, he immediately felt something touch his hand. The second that the side of his finger rubbed against his eye—against the weird, gauzy texture—pain lit up his senses. All of his muscles tensed up at once, and he couldn’t muffle the scream that built in his throat.

Bright, blinding, white pain. So different from the blood red.

“Zuko?” a voice called out. It sounded close but muffled at the same time. “Zuko, are you alright?”

A figure bent down directly in front of his face, and he immediately recognized the dark amber eyes. They held concern, but also something else underneath. He couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

“Uncle?” he said, his voice rough from disuse. He tried to sit up, but everything hurt. His body felt weary, his limbs aching. However, the left side of his face burned like Agni’s breath. He wanted to touch it to quell the pain, but he didn’t want to make the mistake of putting his hand on it again. It hurt enough the first time.

“Nephew,” the man—Iroh—said. He placed his hand on his right shoulder to push him back down on the cot he was laying on. “Don’t try to move too much. Your body is still healing.”

“Uncle, what…what happened?” He swallowed away the dryness in his throat. He wished he had a glass of water.

“What…” The old man took a deep breath. “What is the last thing you remember?”

_The last thing I remember_.

He wasn’t sure. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine something, anything. However, all of his memories seemed foggy.

However, a sudden memory sprung to the forefront of his mind.

_A crowd. Loud and cheering, surrounding him on all sides. His knees were on the ground against the cold tile. His father stood above him. Walking closer and closer. His lips were moving. He leaned forward, grabbing the younger boy’s hair by the ponytail with one hand. Just as his other hand lit into flames._

Zuko shook his head, shaking away the memory.

“Father…” he said. “He…”

He couldn’t make out the words. Mindlessly, his hand went up to cradle his left eye where his father’s flame had been. It lit up in pain immediately. He shrieked, biting his bottom lip to muffle the cry.

Iroh sighed and placed his hand on Zuko’s kneecap. “You’ve been unconscious for four days,” he said solemnly.

“I’m not in the infirmary,” Zuko said.

“No. You’re not.”

“Then, where am I?”

“Firelord Ozai wanted you in one of the underground rooms until you woke up.” Iroh sighed. “My nephew…I’m so sorry for what’s happened to you.” His hand moved away from Zuko’s knee up to his shoulders. He pulled the young boy into a hug, loose enough not to hurt him but tight enough to squeeze away the pain his father caused. Zuko stiffened at the contact.

A knock on the door pulled them out of their embrace. A man that Zuko didn’t recognize poked his head into the doorway before walking in. He assumed he was likely a servant.

“Is he awake?” the man asked.

Iroh nodded. “Yes, he just woke up.”

The man nodded and turned to the boy. “Prince Zuko,” he said, “I have a message for you from Firelord Ozai.”

Zuko reached forward to grab the letter from the man’s hand. Breaking the wax seal, he unraveled the parchment to see the clean, dark ink of his father’s handwriting. The characters were stiff and perfect. Zuko’s eyes darted across them immediately, devouring each word.

_Zuko,_

_Your disgrace has dishonored our great nation time and time again, and this shall be the last time. For your treacherous actions against me and the rest of the country, you are hereby banished from the Fire Nation. Entrance into the nation will result in your immediate imprisonment._

_In order to come back, I suggest you bring the Avatar with you. His presence threatens the integrity and principles of our nation, more than even you. Find him and bring him back to the Fire Nation. Once you have proven that you are not a complete failure, only then will your honor be returned._

_Sincerely,_

_Firelord Ozai_

Zuko felt his stomach drop. He read the letter again, then reread it again and again, imprinting each word into his mind to memorize it.

_Find him and bring him back to the Fire Nation_.

He closed his eyes and squeezed them shut tightly, trying to hold back any tears. _The Avatar’s been missing for a hundred years_ , he thought. _How am I going to find him?_

“I’m so sorry, my nephew,” Iroh whispered. “You do not deserve this.”

“Yes, I do,” Zuko muttered, his eyes still closed. “I disgraced the Fire Nation. I spoke out of turn. I deserve my punishment.” He opened his eyes to look at the letter again. The official stamp, golden like the sun, gleamed even in the darkness of the room. “Does…does everyone already know?” he asked. He looked up at his uncle, his uncovered eye wide with curiosity.

Iroh nodded. “They already sent out the order.”

Zuko nodded solemnly. He wanted to cry, but he felt too weak. “I understand.”

“You will have a ship to sail on,” Iroh said, “as well as a small crew to help you and a month’s worth of food.” He gave his nephew a sad smile. “That was all I was able to get for you.”

“Thank you,” Zuko said. He looked down at his lap, unable to meet his eyes. “I appreciate it.”

“And I’ll be there with you,” Iroh added. He placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “To guide you.”

Zuko nodded, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Firelord Ozai also had one final request before deporting you,” the servant said. “He wishes for your hair to be shaved.”

Zuko jerked his head up immediately. “What?!”

Iroh’s shoulders slumped, and his eyebrows knitted in sadness. He closed his eyes.

“No, no, no! You can’t!” Zuko tried to stand up, but his weak legs couldn’t seem to support him. He collapsed back on the cot immediately. “You can’t shave my hair! Please! You can’t!”

“It is the Firelord’s command,” the servant said emotionlessly.

Zuko’s uncovered eyebrow arched into a fearful expression. “No, please! Let me…just let me show him. Please! Give me one more chance!”

“Nephew…”

“I can find the Avatar! I can do whatever he asks of me, just please! Please don’t shave my hair!”

His heartbeat pounded rapidly, and tears welled up in his right eye. His lungs burned from overexertion, but he couldn’t stop hyperventilating as the tears slipped down his cheek.

“I’m loyal to him, to the Fire Nation! He can’t shave my hair! He…please! You have to listen to me!”

“Prince Zuko, I cannot disobey my lord,” the servant said. “This is out of my control. I need to go get the razor.”

Zuko’s breath caught in his throat. As the servant stepped out, the boy immediately buried his face in his hands and let out a deep cry. Wailing into palms, he sobbed loudly, shrieking like a wounded animal. His shoulders shook with each tear. He barely registered when Iroh pulled him into another hug.

“Zuko…Zuko, it’s going to be okay.”

“No!” he sobbed. “It’s not! It’s not going to-to be okay! He’s shaving my…he-he’s…” He cried loudly, burying his face into his uncle’s shoulder. His cries were so loud that Iroh’s body barely muffled the noise. It was painful to listen to.

“My nephew, your father burned off part of your hair during the Agni Kai,” Iroh said. He kept his voice low and calm, trying to soothe the wailing boy. “By shaving the rest—”

However, this just made Zuko cry even harder.

_He burned it off. He burned off my hair._

Iroh sighed and held his nephew tighter against him, letting him sob into his shoulder and soak his tunic with his tears. He knew full and well that it wasn’t about the hair. Hair would grow back.

No. Instead, it was about honor. About his father’s love.

The Fire Nation prided themselves on their hair. It was symbolic, a sign of honor. Royalty decorated their topknots with hairpieces passed down from generation to generation. Men presented jaw clips, pins, and small combs to their lovers as betrothal gifts. It was a sign of love. Of honor. Of family. It represented everything that the Fire Nation stood for, everything they revered.

And Ozai wanted to strip his son of that.

Iroh knew that Zuko wanted to show Ozai he was loyal, that he could be honorable for him and for the rest of the nation. But the second his hair was shaved, that chance was gone. His honor was gone. His family’s love was gone. He would no longer have the respect of his nation.

Iroh wouldn’t wish that upon anyone in the world. Especially not his own, beloved nephew.

When the servant came back, razor in hand, Zuko cried even harder. He trembled within his uncle’s arms, each shudder vibrating its way to Iroh’s heart.

“Are you keeping his ponytail?” Iroh asked the servant. He stroked Zuko’s hair to calm him down, just as Ursa had always done when he was younger. However, the young boy was too far gone to be soothed by the small action.

“Yes, we will,” the servant said. “The Firelord specified it.”

Iroh nodded. At least his nephew could have that much.

Zuko pulled his face out of his uncle’s shoulder, gripping the side of the cot with tightly-clenched fists. His knuckles were white.

“I’ll be quick,” the servant promised.

The second that the razor touched the boy’s scalp, he sobbed even harder. He shrieked, wailing in sadness and agony. The servant worked swiftly, shaving the hair off completely and leaving only the high ponytail behind.

Iroh rubbed Zuko’s back as he watched the silky, raven locks fall to the ground around them. Each clump of hair was followed by a stream of tears and sobs that ripped themselves from the back of his throat.

“It’s over,” the servant said. “I’m done.”

Zuko barely lifted his head up as the man gave him a small, handheld mirror. He forced himself to look at his reflection.

He wanted to throw up.

The boy in the mirror—the one with the single, sad, golden eye lined in a deep bag—couldn’t have been him. He refused to believe it.

He brought his head up to touch his scalp. His hair was completely gone, shorn off.

He felt repulsive.

No one would ever love him now, not when he looked like this. Not when his mark of dishonor ran across his face and spread throughout his entire scalp.

He felt so, so ugly. Disgusting. Unlovable.

Zuko dropped the mirror onto the cot and buried his face in his hands, careful not to touch his wounded eye. He didn’t want to know what the burn looked like under the layers of bloody gauze. He didn’t want to see the burned, blackened skin. The revealed muscle.

He retched at the thought.

If he thought he was ugly now—with just the shaved hair, he couldn’t imagine what he’d look like when the gauze was completely pulled away.

But deep down, he had an idea.

_A monster **,**_ he thought. _I’d look like a monster._

Tears flooded his cheeks, and Iroh pulled him into another hug. He whispered words into his good ear, but Zuko didn’t register any of them.

_You’re so ugly._

_You’re so worthless._

_Dishonorable._

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished my last ATLA story and immediately wanted to start writing again. I just can't take a break, can I? At least this one's shorter.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this oneshot! Thank you for reading! :)


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